


Roots Before Branches

by rightonthelimit



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Gore, M/M, Sexual Content, Violence, magic-verse AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-28
Updated: 2013-11-28
Packaged: 2018-01-02 21:24:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1061822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rightonthelimit/pseuds/rightonthelimit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The night Harry leaves Privet Drive for good couldn't have ended worse when he ends up in the clutches of Bellatrix Lestrange. Tortured, bruised and humiliated, he is delivered to none other than the Dark Lord. Surprisingly, he is dismissed carelessly and given to the young man Voldemort has been keeping close the last years...</p><p>Days pass and Harry quickly loses track of time. He is entirely cut off from the world outside and he has no idea what is happening outside of the four walls he's trapped within - he never saw it coming that the diary he used to cherish as a little boy has become a real man a strange fascination for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Please do not repost, recreate or translate.

**A/N:** Please do not repost, recreate or translate. Thanks!

 **Summary:** The night Harry leaves Privet Drive for good couldn't have ended worse when he ends up in the clutches of Bellatrix Lestrange. Tortured, bruised and humiliated, he is delivered to none other than the Dark Lord. Surprisingly, he is dismissed carelessly and given to the young man Voldemort has been keeping close the last years...

Days pass and Harry quickly loses track of time. He is entirely cut off from the world outside and he has no idea what is happening outside of the four walls he's trapped within - he never saw it coming that the diary he used to cherish as a little boy has become a real man a strange fascination for him.

 **Warnings:** Alternative universe, sexual content, gore, violence, angst

**Roots Before Branches**

Prologue

It was hard to describe Bellatrix Lestrange.

If you were to ask her enemies what she was like, they’d tell you that Bellatrix Lestrange was vicious, cruel, intimidating and absolutely driven insane by her own bloodlust. That is, if they’d even live long enough to tell you. The people Bellatrix disliked all had one thing in common, and that was their tendency to die horrible, painful deaths.

Her allies would say something among the lines of her being to the point and very effective at her job.

Considering the fact that her allies were all criminals and murderers, it was safe to assume that it pretty much came down to the same thing.

Bellatrix Lestrange could be considered a chaotic, psychopathic woman with the way she only enjoyed murder and torture. Her body spoke of old, lost glory – the remembrance of her beauty still somewhere hidden behind long, frizzy black hair, dark make up that had been applied days ago and was currently in the process of clogging up her pores, long claw-like fingernails and tattered clothing adorning her thin body. She wasn’t pretty by society’s standards and hadn’t been in a long, long time.

But I digress.

In her own eyes, Bellatrix was a warrior queen. A soldier to her own emptiness. She was a strong, mentally ill – scarred - woman with a mission.

Those kinds of women were most dangerous.

She wore her scars just like she wore her pure blood status - with pride and head held high. Her scars told a story of murder, pain, pleasure. All of them combined they formed the first layer of Bellatrix’ insanity.

Bellatrix Lestrange was like an onion. Peel one layer of stinking madness away from her mind, and all you’d find is another layer rotting underneath it. If you'd just kept peeling, you’ll find her core, though it often already laid bare and was quite easy to see if one would have ever bothered to see through the madness.

Her love and devotion for a Dark Lord who used her like a mere pawn.

He abused her, even. He was horridly cruel but throughout the years of pain and neglect in Azkaban, the years of waiting, the feel of his magic on her skin as he used the Cruciatus curse on her was like a loving caress. She was officially married and her last name was now Lestrange but she didn’t want to wear it.  _It wasn’t_ His  _name._

Her Lord had a serpentine visage. She had a morbid fascination to it – the other Death Eaters found him unattractive, intimidating, but not Bellatrix. She found that after closely staring at his profile, he had a slight curve where his nose ought to be. His head was completely hairless and she could only guess that the rest of his body was as well as when he had lifted his arms above his head whilst performing a spell once, his robes had slipped and exposed his forearms.

He had no hair there.

She was grateful for that. There was no hair blocking her view of his glorious skin. His eyes were red and cruel, the most peculiar color of ruby red and his lids were almond shaped. His body did not speak of lost glory at all.

No, her Lord was beautiful in his own chilling, unusual way.

Her Lord had developed the habit of carrying around a younger man these past years. Bellatrix Lestrange was to protect this unknown male with her life so that’s what she would do – she would never deny her Lord of anything no matter how odd the request. She’d mop the floor he walked upon like a filthy Muggle tramp if he were to tell her to.

She just loved him so.

Her Lord had introduced the man only to his most loyal Death Eaters – herself, Snape and Lucius -, telling them that it was their duty to protect him, and she still could not completely understand why he mattered so much. He’d been introduced as Tom but Bellatrix had spotted the way his eyes had narrowed when her Lord had spoken that name.

Tom did not like that name at all and Bellatrix would trust him for as far as she could throw him.

Tom looked like he was in his early twenties when her Lord had introduced him to them; demanding Tom received the same attention, devotion and treatment as they would give their Lord. Lord Voldemort had looked utmost pleased and Tom had stood there with calculating eyes.

Tom had parted brown hair, blue eyes, a pale skin and a perfect bone structure. He looked as though he had been carved by angels themselves. He was just so beautiful.

But Bellatrix still did not find him as attractive as her true Lord.

Perhaps it was because of her initial jealousy. Her Lord had not elaborated on Tom’s purpose but Bellatrix was certain he had one – why else would the Dark Lord keep him around and most of all, stress on his protection so much? Maybe it was because her Lord spent so much time with the male? Because the male had such privileges? Because they  _slept_ so near each other?

‘Keep walking,’ she sneered at the boy she was dragging with her through the hallways. He stumbled on his feet and moaned in pain. He was dragging blood all over the place. Good.

Several Death Eaters glanced at the odd pair but she paid no attention to them. There was a bag over the boy’s head so he wouldn’t be recognized and his hands were bound, his mouth gagged. Muffled noises constantly erupted from him when she hit or kicked him but she could not care less.

He was a gift to her Lord.

His name was Harry Potter.

She had captured Harry Potter when the half-giant had been moving him to their hide out and it had surprised even Bellatrix how easy it all had been. Harry had put up a fight, sure enough, and the blood dripping from her brow was proof. But she was more experienced than him. He had been too emotional when he fought her. Still grieving over her cousin and filled with vengeance.

It didn’t work well for him.

The boy was short and his vivid green eyes were hidden from view. She suspected her Lord to have found some reason for his existence, because the boy was not to be harmed. Maybe he wanted to kill Harry Potter himself.

She assumed it would bring him pleasure and she shuddered as she imagined the expression on her Lord's face when he would first lay eyes upon the pest.

The doors swung open before her. She dragged Harry with her and the boy made a noise behind his gag as if he knew he was being dragged out like a pig for slaughter. His heels dug into the floor and he tried to struggle but when Bellatrix hit him over the head which he was bleeding profoundly from, Harry eventually whined and complied again.

The Dark Lord was sitting at the head of the long table and Tom sat next to him at his right hand. Bellatrix bowed her head in submission as soon as she was only a few feet away from them and tugged at the leash she had wrapped tightly around Harry’s throat. He crumpled to the ground with a muffled pained noise and his wobbly knees banged against the marble floor.

What a pitiful sight.

She couldn't help the vicious smile on her face.

‘Bellatrix,’ Voldemort welcomed her in a pleasant, almost airy tone, ‘I see you have brought us a surprise.’

‘My Lord,’ she acknowledged haughtily as she chose to address her true Lord and not Tom, ‘I have indeed.’

She held out the leash and to her dismay Tom took it from her instead of Voldemort. Bellatrix kept her head submissively down but dared to glance up when the boy made another noise from next to her, slumping face forward into the floor when Tom tugged on the leash. He must have some trouble breathing, because his chest was heaving up and down and he was only weakly squirming in his bonds.

‘Take the bag off his head, will you Tom?’

Tom got up from his seat next to Lord Voldemort and kneeled next to the defeated boy. He glanced at Bellatrix from the corner of his eye and Bellatrix lowered her eyes again. She could practically feel his presence weighing down on her, covering her like a thick blanket.

His long fingers pushed the boy's chin up and the boy must have tried to say something, because the sound of his weak protests seemed to bounce off the walls. Tom undid the leash around his neck and slowly, as if unwrapping a precious Christmas present, he pulled the bag off Harry’s head.

Tom stopped breathing for a second. She dared to glance up at Lord Voldemort who had risen from his seat as well. He loomed over them like a dark cloud and she swallowed.

Oh yes, she would be greatly rewarded alright.

Harry must have been crying because he had wet trails on his cheeks, his characteristic glasses gone. His bright green eyes were covered with a blindfold and he was taking in greedy gulps of air through his nose, wild black hair on top of his head. Almost as if checking if what he was seeing was true, Tom pushed away the boy’s bangs and traced the lightning bolt shaped scar.

Harry Potter cursed behind his gag and leaned backwards in a weak attempt to avoid his touches.

‘You’ve brought us Harry Potter,’ Lord Voldemort announced pleasantly, running a hand through Bellatrix’ hair almost as if petting a dog he was fond of. Bellatrix’ eyes widened at the caress and she gulped before nodding.

The Dark Lord looked like he wanted to say something else but he was interrupted by a muffled groan of pain when Harry lost his balance and fell flat on his back, landing on his wrists.

‘My Lord,’ Tom started as he caressed the side of Harry’s face who whimpered in pain, ‘surely you remember your promise?’

Bellatrix eyes briefly slid over Tom’s face before she studied the hem of her Lord’s robes again. Promise… What promise? Why should the Dark Lord feel as though he owed anything to the other male?

‘Very well,’ Lord Voldemort replied. He sneered at the dirt that covered the boy, staining the white floors. ‘See that he gets washed. I don’t want him soiling my property.’

And it went just like that.

He just cast Harry Potter aside as though he was of no interest to him anymore. Tom dragged Harry away by the arm and Bellatrix could feel disappointment go through her again, not understanding her Lord’s reaction. How could he be so calm? Why wasn’t he happy?

‘You have done well, Bellatrix,’ the man stated pleasantly as he pet her hair again. She kneeled at his feet and kept her eyes subdued. ‘I sense you are confused.’

‘My Lord,’ she mumbled, ‘I captured Potter, isn’t this to be celebrated?’ she whispered, in fear that her words might inspire the man to grow mad at her. He didn’t. He just laughed.

‘Yes, yes it is indeed,’ he said, ‘though admittedly this is only the beginning.’


	2. So Many Things To Do And Say

**Roots Before Branches**

Chapter 1

**So Many Things To Do And Say**

When Harry Potter was a little boy there had been only one thing he had truly liked about his own appearance. It was something subtle, something he tended to hide behind his hair because other people just didn’t _understand._ Why should they in the first place? No one cared for Harry, let alone his quirks and looks. He's always been a kind boy, but that has never kept anyone from abusing him the way they did.  
  
No one cared for that which Harry loved, either.

Including the little lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead.

Of course at a young age he hadn’t even known what burdens accompanied that scar – the moral obligations, the selfish demands, the huge expectations and the titles he was now forced to carry, the other scars that would join this one, the rejection, the love, the  _magic_. All he had known when he had been just a boy was that this scar made him special and having grown up in a family where he had been treated lower than dirt, feeling special had been exactly that which Harry Potter had needed.

And whenever Harry Potter looked into the mirror, even now at his current age, all he could see was his scar. He didn’t see his own green eyes anymore nor did he see his messy black hair. It all melted away as soon as his eyes landed on that little line on his reflection's face.

He had studied his features at times, oh yes, and he had even been told that he was attractive plenty of times. Some even went as far as calling Harry Potter beautiful but Harry never had been sure if they had called him that because they actually meant it or because they thought that it would make Harry feel like he owed them something.

Everyone had a hidden agenda, himself included. Harry’s intentions were admittedly more pure – he wanted a lot of things, none of them at the cost of the happiness of others. It was just that he lacked the proper tools to acquire them.

So Harry clung unto the only thing that made him really,  _really_ special.

His scar.

It was his scar which had been the very cause of his value to the Magical Community, his scar which locked a piece of Lord Voldemort inside of him. Secretly Harry had known for a long, long time that he was a Horcrux.

He had just hoped that Voldemort would not know this.

Naturally, a lot of things never went as planned in Harry’s life. Living with his godfather hadn’t worked out. Dating Ginny hadn’t worked out. Growing taller still hadn’t happened and most likely never would.

Escaping the Dursley family home and going hiding at the Weasley's hadn’t.

Harry had been caught for what felt like months ago, though he knew it maybe only had been a week. Even his glasses had been taken from him, rendering his vision blurry and becoming the main reason behindthe pounding headache that seemed to last until the end of his days.

Harry Potter was emotionally drained. He had been locked in this little room with nothing to do but await his upcoming death – or freedom -, something that seemed to be postponed no matter how much he had grown to long for it. All he could do was sit there in light that often hurt his eyes, thinking things over. His heart ached with both worry and anxiety. He was like a caged animal.

He'd been caught the night Fleur, Bill, Tonks, Lupin, Hermione, Ron, Mad Eye Moody, Hagrid and the others came to Privet Drive to take him away. The mental image of Hedwig sacrificing herself to protect him never left his mind.

She symbolized the death of his childhood to him, though it had admittedly never been a good one.

Harry didn’t see the grin that currently nearly split Bellatrix’ face in half. Frankly put he couldn’t see her at all as she was standing right behind him.

But that didn’t mean that he couldn’t  _feel_ her sadistic glee.

Harry’s body trembled in suppressed rage. Just having those hands run over his teenage body and feeling them linger a bit too long made him feel sick in his stomach. She was using the excuse of ‘searching him for any weapons’ almost eagerly and she seemed fascinated with making his skin crawl, making him resent the fact that he could  _feel_.

He had been moved, once. At first he had spent a long time in a cell that had smelt of mold and other unpleasant things but he had suddenly been blindfolded and gagged again to be moved to another room. Someone had apparated him some place, because he could remember the distinct feeling of it. The disorientation had caused him to vomit.

Harry woke up in this room after passing out.

Harry couldn’t help but remember the first time he met Hagrid.  _After seven years he’ll be changed completely,_ Hagrid had said and Harry supposed that was somewhat true.

In these seven years Harry has experienced some freedom. Not much – just scraps of it, little moments that made him feel like a genuine real, normal boy whenever he wasn’t forced into the role of a martyr. After those glorious seven years he became a prisoner once more only this time, he wasn’t even allowed out of his  _cage_ to do chores.

The thought that even serving the Dursley's day after day was better than the life he was living now made him feel jaded.

After being moved he discovered there weren’t any Death Eaters around anymore. When he had been in his previous cell they had leered, laughed and some of them had thrown a couple of punches at him and it had stayed at that. Bellatrix was the only one who visited him regularly only to remind him of how helpless he was, torturing Harry with her very own presence and potions. She was even worse in brewing regular potions than Harry had been and he was sure that Snape wouldn’t even have bothered with crude comments had he been her teacher at Hogwarts.

Once a day food and water appeared –  House Elves, Harry supposed – on the wooden desk standing innocently in the corner of his room, his prison cell. There was a door that lead to a bathroom which held simple things such as a shower and a toilet and toothbrushes (why there were multiple, Harry didn’t bother to think about) and soap. There was nothing Harry could use as a weapon.

Bellatrix had no reason to be here.

The window had bars in front of it but Harry suspected that he was underground and that it was fake, like the ones at the underground floors of the Ministry of Magic. Harry knew this because he had spent one day and one night up more than once, counting the hours yet the sun never went down. He didn’t even know for sure if it was day or night right at this moment.

The green eyed teen wasn’t sure why he was permitted so many luxuries, as he even had a quill and ink and parchment. There were clean clothes in the small closet standing in the corner of his room but Harry hadn’t put them on. He somehow expected the sweaters to choke him.

It was as though he was in a small hotel on an unwanted holiday away from everything that happened in the outside world.

Though Harry hadn’t been attacked ever since he got here (with full exception of Bellatrix experimenting on him every now and then) he was still afraid, confused. Harry had been expecting the Dark Lord to visit and kill him but he had yet to come. The anticipation was agonizing.

Harry could remember trying to wake a Stupefied Hagrid up and he could also remember Bellatrix attacking him. The world had gone black before he even had the choice to turn around. He wasn’t even sure if it had been the woman’s attack that had him writhing in agony.  Maybe it had been just a vision.

Harry couldn’t do anything, the stuff in this room couldn’t possibly help him escape if he even wanted to bother trying.

Nonetheless, it was becoming harder and harder for Harry to think straight these days as his own insecurities and nerves, fears, got the best of him. He hadn’t been sleeping well as he somehow expected to be attacked any day, but he had been eating. The first days he'd been here, he flat out refused. Not only because he didn’t know who prepared the meals and what the possibilities of being poisoned were, but also because he refused to take anything – willingly – from the one who killed his parents and had ruined his life.

Later on though, he realized that it wouldn’t do to starve either and he needed to be healthy if there would ever be a chance of escaping. Besides that, it wouldn’t please the Dark Lord quite as much when Harry would just get poisoned. Harry was the  _chosen one_ , the one who was destined to kill him. Surely, he would get rid of Harry in a different, more cruel way… Right?

Grudgingly, Harry had been eating since that realization.

Harry was afraid and his thoughts were only making things worse. It was like there was a constant pressure on his head; it ached no matter what he did or how many hot showers he took. Every now and then the familiar burning ache in his scar came back, which he knew he only got when Voldemort got excited over something. Both negatively as positively.

Why hadn’t someone come for him? Wasn’t he supposed to be everyone’s only chance? Now Harry couldn’t help but wonder if maybe everyone had just lied to him, had pretended to like him because he was the famous Harry Potter…

Harry bit his lower lip as her hands roamed over his chest.

‘So pretty…’ The green eyed boy nearly flinched at the sound of Bellatrix' voice. He doubted she was even aware of the fact that she was speaking.

‘Shut up,’ Harry demanded weakly. It was natural for him to want to use the Cruciatus curse on this woman until she went blind from pain. She had killed Sirius. The only family he had left.

Wanting this was normal and okay… right?

Harry’s hands turned into weak yet angry fists.

‘You should be proud,’ Bellatrix continued as though she hadn’t heard him, ‘that he has chosen you, of all people. Of all  _better_  people.’ She turned to stand in front of Harry and caressed his face in a way Harry knew she would want to caress Voldemort’s. It disgusted him.

‘People have been talking, you know. About the true reason he keeps you here. Don’t you ever wonder, boy?’ Her fingers caressed Harry’s cheekbone and Harry moved a bit out of her reach. She only grinned and took a step towards him. ‘Maybe he doesn’t want to kill you anymore. Maybe you can serve a greater purpose, as to _please_ our dear leader  _in every possibly way_  would be a honorable task, if you know what I mean.’

Her eyelashes fluttered and it took Harry a couple of seconds before he realized what she meant. His cheeks flushed and his eyes grew wide; he raised his voice without thinking it through.

‘You are sick! Just like that bastard is!’

The slap, accompanied with her outraged gasp, came as a surprise and Harry stumbled and tripped at the sheer force behind it. He angrily rubbed at his tearfilled eyes with his hand, the other cradling his stinging cheek.

‘Know your place,’ she hissed and crouched down, clutching Harry’s chin within her fingers to turn his face towards her own. ‘I could kill you right now, tell  _him_  you attacked me. I’m sure he’d be glad to be rid of such a burden like yourself.’

‘Then what are you waiting for?’ Her mouth opened and closed and Harry merely stared at her. ‘What’s the matter? All it takes is one spell-’

‘Shut up!’ she slapped his other cheek but this time, Harry was prepared. He closed his eyes for a moment to gather himself. Even if Harry was a captive, he still had his pride dammit and he wouldn’t stand for this. Playing with this woman was dangerous, so very, very dangerous and he knew it would very well be the end of him if he crossed her boundaries. Still, right now there was no greater pleasure than the satisfaction of knowing that he at least could do this.

‘I will kill you, just like I killed my filthy cousin, you just wait and see…’ She stood up and for a moment all Harry could see was red. The way she so carelessly referred to his godfather was like a stab in the heart.

_I killed Sirius Black, I killed Sirius Black!_

_Are you coming to get me?!_

e lunged forward and grabbed her leather clad ankle, biting in it until his teeth started to ache and then biting even harder.

She cried out in pain and when she reached in her robes to grab her wand she kicked him in the face before screaming ‘ _CRUCIO!_ ’

For a moment, it felt as though the world had stopped spinning. Harry screamed in pain and his eyes were wide; it was like every inch of his being was on fire, like it was being crushed. It felt like his bones were trying to jump right through his skin. It made his fingers twitch in the instinctive urge to grip something, anything. Tears immediately filled his eyes and he couldn’t even notice them falling, he didn’t notice the woman leaning over him.

‘Hurts, doesn’t it?!’ she cackled and kicked his side yet Harry didn’t even notice; it was nothing compared to what he was experiencing. His entire body was twitching and he couldn’t control himself, couldn’t stop those sounds from escaping his mouth.

And then it stopped altogether.

The pain stopped as soon as it came and Harry rolled onto his side, twitching, gasping and trembling in the aftermath. Her body collapsed right next to his own but Harry didn’t seem to notice. He was hyperventilating and didn’t comprehend the situation he was in or the person leaning over him, not even when their eyes met for a brief moment.

He shut his own eyes again and coughed. This was so horrible – so very horrible, he suddenly realized just how much Neville’s parents had had to withstand to turn them to the state of insanity. It probably had been less than thirty seconds, yet…

He felt cold, comfortably so. Soft murmured words lulled his uncomfortably twitching body into a restless sleep, drained from both the intense experience and the emotional turmoil from deep within.

Harry didn’t wake in a long time.


	3. But I Can't Seem To Find My Way

**Roots Before Branches**

Chapter 2

**But I Can’t Seem To Find My Way**

Things had the habit of changing and taking the most curious turns.

Having lived through everything that happened in his life, Harry knew this like no other. Everything was so much easier when one was younger and adulthood was something that snuck up onto you like a thief in the night, to rob you off your innocence and dreams. It was difficult to keep moving, to keep staying strong at times. Fairytales proved to be fake, the heroes Harry used to believe in turned out to be nothing but sell-outs.

But perhaps the oddest thing Harry had believed when he’d been younger, was that Voldemort wasn’t a personal threat to him. Harry had quite easily - carelessly - spoken his name, as though speaking of an equal. He had known what Voldemort had done, why the Wizarding Community feared him, but… To Harry, it had always been just a man. A man who undoubtedly had a past and feelings, a man who had reasons behind his acts.

But later on his fear grew. He knew that that was common sense in the Wizarding Community, it was about as normal as playing Quidditch and making the dishes wash themselves. Something parents taught their children to fear, even though the children had nothing to fear, not essentially if they weren’t mudbloods and even then it’d be a stretch. All magic blood spilt was blood wasted. It were the Muggles who Voldemort couldn’t stand, not their magical children.

Harry sometimes missed the days in which Voldemort hadn’t been a boogeyman but a mere  _man_ to him, someone who had made the wrong choices and someone who had killed Harry’s parents and made him live with the Dursleys. Someone who had affected Harry, but whom Harry hadn’t been capable of judging because he hadn’t  _known_ the man in person.

But things changed and the pain and fear would never stop coming.

When Harry woke up, it was like he opened his eyes for the very first time in months. He felt rested and warm, like everything that had happened in the past had not taken place at all. The teen closed his eyes again and released a soft breath, trying to recall what had happened.

He had gotten upset and attacked Bellatrix. And then… excruciating pain. So much pain that Harry couldn’t remember what happened afterwards and his body seemed to ache by just the mere memory. It appeared as though the memory had embedded itself in his bones, his nerve endings – his very core - and his body would punish him by even trying to recall it.

Harry knew this was just going to be a day like all the others in which he wondered about the true intentions of Voldemort. Had he been right all along? Or did Harry already lose everything whilst the Dark Lord just grew stronger and stronger…?

Harry got up and walked into the bathroom, stripped from his clothes and sighed as he turned on the water.

Harry knew he was a Horcrux from the moment he had been told what a Horcrux was. It would explain it all… but at the same time Harry had been in denial in the faint hope that it couldn’t end like this, that Harry wasn’t just a pawn in this battle.

But now that Voldemort had taken him into custody, Harry knew better. Voldemort must know about the Horcruxes too and now he was keeping Harry somewhere safe, keeping Harry fed and rested in a room where Harry couldn’t get himself killed.

Bellatrix must have known something. That must have been the reason why she used the Cruciatus curse instead of…

Harry jumped and nearly slipped. There had been someone else in the room…! Someone who had… He brought a hand up to his mouth as he suddenly felt the urge to throw up. She had stopped and he recalled the pain slowly disappearing. The sound of a body falling right next to his own trembling one.  He slid down the tiles and hugged his knees to his chest, eyes wide in mortification. Water gently rolled over his pale skin and made his dark hair cling to his forehead, covering his beloved trademark scar

Someone had come to help him, but who? Why hadn’t they taken Harry with them?

Harry had even been put back to bed as though he wasn’t needed outside anymore. As though he’d be safer here… But  _why_?

Bellatrix was someone important. Voldemort needed her and she had stayed true even after she had been sent to Azkaban and the Dark Lord didn’t need Harry to be sane in order to keep his life intact; Harry just needed to be  _breathing_. Had she actually been killed right in front of Harry and had Harry not noticed a thing?

It was hard to imagine mortality when a person was driven by both insanity and immoral ideals.

His hands were shaking as he ran them through his wet hair but he had yet to notice. In fact, he had yet to notice his clothes had been replaced by a towel and a clean set of clothing as well, courtesy of house elves.

How far were Hermione and Ron with collecting and destroying the Horcruxes? Had they managed to find the real locket yet and if so, where had it been? In whose possession had it been and what did they have to do in order to obtain it? More importantly – did Voldemort  _know_? Did he know and did he feel parts of him had literally dying?

It was hard to imagine. This whole situation was hard to imagine because  _what_ would drive someone to destroy their soul and hide it in objects, for Merlin’s sake? Was it truly the thirst for immortality and the need to obtain fame, or was it fear for dying?

It were times like these that Harry wondered if a thirst for immortality could possibly be synonymous to a fear of death. Nicolas Flamel had been afraid of death, hadn’t he? Or had he just been so convinced that he had so much more to contribute to this world that he felt like it wasn’t his time yet?

The questions never led to any answers and it was maddening. It drove Harry to the brink of insanity and it was the very reason why Harry found it hard to comprehend his situation. Oh he knew already, don’t get him wrong, he understood exactly where he was and what purpose his life had. He also knew why it was him of all people – there had been a prophecy a child would come to this earth at the death of the seventh month. But  _why_  had it been Harry? Why had it been Harry’s mother whose love had proven to be so strong that it could temporarily overpower one of the greatest wizards of all time?

Harry closed his eyes, finding no use in seeing if everything was blurry anyway and reveling in the feeling of water running down his naked skin. It was running cold and it made his nipples stiffen and goose bumps rise on his skin, the fine hairs at the back of his neck standing straight up.

Harry knew about Voldemort’s past, he reasoned, and he knew about both his qualities and disadvantages. But he didn’t know the man  _personally_  and that fact alone had always made it incredibly hard for him to understand _why_  the man was so set on killing him, why the man was to be killed by Harry’s own hands.

His eyes slowly opened and they caught sight of his fingers. He marveled a bit at the sight.

Hands were amazing things. They were made to both create and destroy, to mend and harm, mold and form. They were connected to arms that could hold strength. Now they just hung limply at his sides, feeling as though there was no one left to hold and no one left to hold him in return.

He stepped out of the shower and dried himself off, mind numb as he dressed himself. The feel of its fabric rustling against his skin made him sigh. He wanted to go home.

_But is a house really a home if all your loved ones are gone?_

He didn’t know. And he was too afraid to find the answer.

Harry opened and closed the bathroom door and rested his forehead against the wood for a few seconds before he wearily turned his head, strangely not at all surprised when he spotted a man sitting on the wooden chair that belonged with the desk.

The man turned to him and Harry bit his lower lip. He looked  _familiar_ …

The teen suddenly realized how utterly weak he must look if he looked even half as horrible as he felt and it made him feel small. The man himself looked well groomed and while Harry’s skin had gotten a grayish undertone from lack of sunlight, this man’s pale skin looked very healthy. Fitting, Harry would say if he hadn’t felt threatened, intimidated by his visitor’s mere presence

Even after all that Harry went through he was still a teen, he still was very aware of his own body and was even a bit ashamed to be like this in front of a stranger. It was strange, because he should be wondering who this person was or why he was even there. Instead he couldn’t help but marvel what went through the other male’s head when he saw the Chosen One standing in clothes too big for his frame, Harry’s skin not even hiding Harry’s frail bone structure.  He had lost a great amount of weight since he got here, after all, and it often looked like his bones could cut through his skin.

Harry awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck as he regarded the man. He had dark brown hair and dark eyes and a handsome face, his suit looked expensive and his shoes were shiny. All in all, he was everything the boy was not and Harry resented him for it.

Finally, the man stood up and stood right in front of Harry in a split second. Harry hadn’t seen him move and he stumbled a bit on his feet, unsure of what to expect. Would he be hurt? Or was this the man who had helped him before, saved him from Bellatrix?

‘Who are you?’ Harry finally asked and he watched in wonder at the chuckle that escaped the inviting lips in front of him. His head started aching and Harry rubbed at his eyes, a long sleeve obscuring his hand from the male’s vision.

‘How charming,’ the older male stated. Harry blinked and noted the lack of emotion in his low voice and it sent shivers down his spine. There was something about him, something that…

‘Do I… I know you?’ Harry reached up to scratch his scar as it suddenly felt itchy and the man just stood there.

‘Yes.’

‘Did you-’

‘If you will excuse me, I have a meeting to attend.’ His visitor inclined his head politely though the look in his eyes sent shivers down Harry’s spine. ‘Wait-!’

The door closed with a soft click and Harry was left alone, the blurry outline of his only way out weighing down on him. If his visitor had a meeting to go to, then why did he come here in the first place?


	4. But I Wanna Know How

**Roots Before Branches**

Chapter 3

**But I Wanna Know How**

Ignorance is bliss.

That is, unless you’re aware of your own ignorance. Then it just becomes a source of embarrassment and annoyance.

Ignorance can never be compared to stupidity for a wise man once said that stupidity is the absence of willingness to learn, and Harry wholeheartedly agreed with that. Wise words of others were something people with simplistic minds could only cling unto, as they would never find inspiration to say anything as remotely interesting no matter how hard they'd try. People like Harry were no poets, and they never would be either.

Harry was in the dark and always has been about something. He didn’t know a lot of things, he was still only a kid beneath it all but always had he been eager to learn. Perhaps that was the real reason why people kept bothering with him. He still had a long way to go before he could be considered a bearded wizard with knowledge that surpassed his long, long years after all, but he had potential

But it was fine. Harry didn’t strive to be the next Dumbledore. He had his own roles to play.

Harry Potter was a teenage boy and the ‘Chosen One’ at the same time. He had always thought he was too young to experience everything that had been going on in his short life because that was exactly what he was; young, inexperienced. In his opinion, there were a lot of wizards who were surely smarter and stronger than him. Like Dumbledore. So why him? Because he happened to be his parents’ son?

As if the burden of having to save the Wizarding Community wasn’t enough, he always normal teenage worries on his mind as well. Such as - was his skin ever going to clear up? Was he going to die a virgin? Was he even heterosexual? And what were his chances on becoming an Auror, if he ever managed to get out of here alive and finish school?

Harry wasn’t sure who he was. He knew  _what_  he was and he knew what  _purpose_  he had in life but after the battle was over, what was he going to do with his life?

He could imagine surviving and coming out in one piece and being praised by everyone. But being praised wouldn’t feed him, it wouldn’t bring food on the table, it wouldn’t make him feel any better about the life he was supposed to live after all of this. Surely, he would be famous and his name would be well known to many generations who would live after his children – God, was he even going to get  _laid -_ but that wouldn’t do. He wanted to be _useful_  and actually do something with his life and not in the way he was supposed to.

His cheeks flushed in shame at his own selfish thoughts. Of course he wanted to save everyone and of course he wanted to be a hero – who wouldn’t? – but… this was all so very intimidating. He was supposed to fight a man who was much older and much more experienced than he was.

But he was supposed to get out of here first. To Harry, it felt like he had been in this room for months. Maybe it had been longer or maybe it just had been two weeks. All he did was sleep, think, eat, shower and repeat the process again.

He could only imagine what the world looked like right now. Maybe the war had already taken place and maybe Voldemort had already won.

 _And everyone he had ever loved had died..._ Harry swallowed the lump that suddenly formed in his throat _._ _No, don’t think about that. They are probably just wondering where you are and working hard on saving you._

The door opened and closed and Harry’s head whipped around.

It was  _him_  again. Harry suspected his visitor to be a Death Eater – what else could he be? – but Harry had taken a liking to him nonetheless. He had visited Harry every now and then and they had talked about nothing in particular. Harry’s initial hate toward him was still in place but had they been in another situation Harry knew he would’ve been intrigued. The man seemed to be in his mid twenties and he was rather handsome. His dark brown eyes were intelligent and his cheekbones were nicely shaped, his dark hair elegantly framing his face. His nose was straight and his lips… Harry didn’t want to think about his lips. Nonetheless, the emotionless mask his face appeared to be always bothered Harry. He found it hard to believe the male felt no emotions at all.

‘Good morning,’ the man said and he closed the door behind him. Harry’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of his wand. He licked his sudden dry lips.

‘Is it?’ Harry questioned and Harry’s eyes finally met the other’s.

‘No, I am afraid not. I am supposed to say ‘Good evening’, but I figured it would not make much sense if you consider that window of yours. ’ The man gave him a wry smile and Harry swallowed.

‘Brilliant.’

Harry sat back down and forced himself to relax. He didn’t know why he was getting scared all of a sudden, but it wouldn’t do to show it. Harry wouldn’t go down without a fight and he had to be strong.

The sight of his visitor’s wand reminded Harry of his own which he had no idea where it was right now. It felt like it was useless now anyway as there were simply too many Death Eaters; Harry was outnumbered. Harry never had been remarkably smart, not like Hermione anyway and she had also been the best with spells and the like. Harry usually just relied on his instincts and went with the situation without thinking things properly through. It was unclear if this was a talent or a stupid habit.

‘Why do you visit me?’ Harry suddenly wondered out loud and turned when the man sat down on his bed. He moved elegantly, much like a feline. Or a snake.

Harry couldn’t see this man’s features very well, with his own vision impaired because his glasses had been taken from him. Up until now Harry hadn’t cared, but now he just felt irritation because he was certain he could’ve identified this man with his vision still being, well  _decent_.

‘Would you rather have me leave you alone and allow your own thoughts to drive you mad?’ Harry’s visitor countered, releasing a soft chuckle. He didn´t wait for an answer as he continued. ‘Can’t a man be bored?’

Harry shook his head in denial. ‘My thoughts don’t drive me mad.’ They both knew it was a lie and Harry looked away.

‘How does your scar feel?’ the man randomly asked, taking the teen by surprise.

‘I… ’ He stopped to think. Could he use this information against Harry? ‘It just… it itches, sometimes. That’s all.’

Harry nibbled on his lower lip and sighed. ‘Can I ask you something?’ Harry finally asked and looked up to see the man giving Harry a questioning look.

‘You just did,’ the man answered. Harry hated how his voice was always so even, controlled.

‘I was just wondering if… well, you don’t have to answer this question anyway. I don’t see why you would even bother…’

‘Just ask me the question.’

The boy blinked.

‘R-right. Well… Outside. What’s it like? Is… has  _he_ taken over yet?’

Harry’s visitor seemed to think for a moment before he leaned his back against the wall, gazing out of the window. The fake rays of sunlight lit his pale face up and Harry found himself staring, entranced. There was almost something poetic about the Death Eater when he looked like this, all mystery and illuminated pale skin. He looked older than his youthful appearance made out and Harry wondered to himself what kind of a soul a body that beautiful could house. He wondered what demons hid behind that wry smile, those intelligent eyes.

‘Would you like to hear the truth?’ the man finally said. He looked satisfied and that chilled Harry to the bone. They looked at each other for a while and Harry questioned himself where he had seen this man before. It hadn’t been at Hogwarts, he was confident of that. Then where…?

‘Would I be capable of handling it?’ Harry asked in a voice so small and weak he wasn’t sure if it was his own. If only he could be assured… He was never like this. Harry used to be a lot stronger, but that was before his thoughts had indeed started driving him mad, and that was before the possibility of losing everything had seemed ridiculously nonexistent.

Silence answered Harry’s question in a way no words ever could and it felt like a cold stone dropped in Harry’s stomach. His eyes suddenly stung and he inhaled sharply.

‘Forget I ever asked,’ Harry mumbled and his visitor courteously did. Instead, the older male started talking about the Houses in Hogwarts, something about an old fight between Salazar Slytherin and Goderic Gryffindor.

By the time he left, Harry had rediscovered his need to escape. He needed to  _see_ , to  _know_  what it was like.

 

* * *

  
The next day, when the man came, Harry had surprised him by ripping the door open and running out of the room into a dark corridor. There were paintings on the walls and for a small, foolish moment, Harry had thought that he could actually make it.

But then arms were suddenly around his torso and Harry started screaming in frustration when he got dragged back into his room. It was like he was suddenly going insane with the need to feel free again, to make sure the rest of his loved ones were alright.

‘Let me go!’ Harry yelled and kicked and punched, but it didn’t seemed to harm the other male at all. In fact, he only seemed to be annoyed by the entire situation and shoved Harry against the wall.

‘So you truly have gone mad?’ he asked in that annoyingly even voice that made Harry’s skin crawl every time he saw him.

‘Let me go! I have to save them…!’

‘They can’t be saved, Harry.’

‘I can! I can save them, I can…!’ tears of frustration welled up in his eyes and his punches grew weaker and weaker. Eventually Harry’s hands rested on the man’s chest while he practically hyperventilated. Why was this happening to him…? He hated this, he didn’t want to go on, he just-

‘You may be Dumbledore’s wonder boy, but then again, that’s exactly what you are isn’t it Harry? You’re just a  _boy_.’

Harry swallowed the lump in his throat and blinked away his tears. He didn’t want to cry and he didn’t want to look weak, not now, not like this. This was the very first time an adult acknowledged him for what he truly was and not for what purpose he served. He shook his head and desperation made his intelligence slip through his fingers. He couldn’t care about dignity while he pitifully started rambling. ‘You don’t understand… they need me, please… I won’t tell, no one has to know, I honestly won’t-’

‘You are above begging, Harry Potter.’

Harry just sobbed and his knees buckled, making him grip his visitor’s shoulders in an attempt to stay up.

‘You just don’t understand!’ Harry snapped. The effort to keep on talking was tremendous and he was ashamed for crying in front of his enemy. He bet the man was laughing on the inside, he was probably taught that it was impolite to laugh at crying people in their faces.

Harry shook his head. ‘I have to do this! I can’t just sit here and grow old while they die! I can’t waste any time, not when  _he’s_ so strong at the moment and…!’ Harry’s crazed eyes shot to the man’s and in that small moment of silence Harry realized that this man cared for nothing Harry said. He probably thought Harry had finally lost it.

Had he? Harry didn’t know and he thought that that was definitely a sign of insanity.

Harry could feel something hard pressing against his hip and as he finally tore his eyes off the male’s, he realized it was a wand. The man was raising his wand against Harry.

His eyes grew wide and he made to move away, only to have another hand grip his arm. He was starting to panic, he realized as his heart hammered in his chest yet he couldn’t really say a word. The man was studying Harry’s thin face, as though he was something interesting and Harry was sure his bad sight was fooling him, because for a moment he thought there was a flicker of red in his eyes.

_Just like…_

‘Stupefy,’ his visitor finally said, directly to Harry.

Harry’s body sunk to the ground like a rag doll. Just like that.


	5. I Know I'm Meant For Something Else

**Roots Before Branches**

Chapter 4

**I Know I'm Meant For Something Else**

Memories were fickle things.

They didn’t always automatically represent the truth, as even brightest of minds could be deceitful– important details appeared to be meant to be forgotten and happenings always ended up becoming ,  in a vain attempt at fixing that which was meant to be broken.

In his solitude, Harry had lost grip of what was real and what wasn’t, the only thing accompanying him the voices in his head every now and then which he had not yet identified to be his own. He lost count of the hours that passed, even. Everything was topsy turvy.

His visitor was an odd companion and even if Harry essentially did not trust him, his presence was soothing for Harry. He was growing mad with this loneliness because never had he been truly alone – the Dursleys would’ve always found a reason to yell at him, at school he had been quite popular because people had been interested in him, and when he’d been with the Weasleys he hadn’t been permitted one moment of solitude because their family was so big.

It was hard to explain, but this man reminded Harry of things that should’ve slipped his mind, such as writing in a journal with a soul kinder than those around him and written promises that had made him cling onto the mess called his life.

They didn’t discuss Harry’s pathetic attempt at an escape anymore and Harry was grateful for that. Harry was embarrassed when he was around his visitor, but there was also a feeling of bitterness residing within him. The teen had woken up on the floor and no matter how hard he kicked and screamed at the door, it hadn’t budged. His throat had ached hours after that.

Harry hated himself for being weak and he hated the man for not granting Harry his freedom. It only reminded the teen that his visitor was the enemy once again. They could never be friends, for as much as Harry had grown fond of him.

For a brief moment Harry thought he had developed the Stockholm’s  Syndrome. He had watched a documentary about it once, when he still lived with Aunt Petunia. People would fall in love or grow fond of their captors because the captors were all the victim would see. Surely, Harry didn’t… right?

Harry sighed and leaned his head on his arms, which were in turn resting on the wooden desk. His visitor was sitting on his bed as usual and had brought Harry some books. To kill some time, he had said.

Harry’s stomach turned at the mere mention of killing but he hadn’t told him.

The man hadn’t really spoken to Harry and Harry appreciated that. There were no awkward silences like when Harry was with Ron and there was no one constantly blabbering like when he was with Hermione.

The man had a certain aristocratic air around him, like he was wealthy and programmed to keep his manners at all costs. It also made Harry feel irritated, for some odd reason. Probably because it made him feel less than the man. Well, he was; He was a captive after all.  _Just a boy_.

The presumable Death Eater held more power over him, maybe he was even a greater wizard. No, not maybe. Based on the power he was radiating, he  _was_. Harry could sense his danger from all the way across the room whilst the man was innocently flipping through the books he had brought the teen like everything was okay, like nothing was out of order.

‘How old are you?’ Harry mumbled, wanting to break the silence.

‘I don’t think my age is relevant.’ Harry’s visitor’s voice was always even and polite. Calm and collected. It irritated Harry to no end.

Harry heaved out a long sigh and scowled.  ‘Then do you know for how long I will be here?’

His visitor looked up and Harry bit his lower lip. His eyes almost seemed crimson in the direct, albeit fake, sunlight coming through the window. The boy blamed his own bad sight, though, because no one had red eyes. No one but Voldemort. 

‘You know I wouldn’t tell you even if I knew.’

‘You can’t tell me anything,’ Harry countered and crossed his arms over his chest. The man stared at him for a moment, almost as if he was assessing Harry’s true motive behind that comment. Then, his eyebrow rose.

‘Maybe you just aren’t asking me the right questions, foolish boy.’

‘A question can only be wrong if I already were to know the answer to it, bitter man.’

Harry couldn’t help but feel a little intimidated at that look on his visitor’s face. The look on the older male’s face was gone before Harry could question it - replaced by a cold façade – and the man rose to his feet. Harry stood up as well and watched as he stepped up to Harry. For a moment, they were standing close enough to touch. But neither of them did. That would be crossing the invisible line they’d both drawn.

Harry could feel the other male’s breath on his face, mingling with his own and he realized now that it wasn’t the fake sunlight playing tricks on him. The male’s eyes were in fact a very dark shade of crimson, easily mistaken with a brown color. Harry had to crane his neck in order to be capable of looking him in the eyes as Harry didn’t even  reach his shoulder. That fact alone irritated Harry.

‘I hope you can read, Potter. Good day.’

He left and Harry trembled in suppressed rage.

* * *

Harry was reading on his bed by the time his visitor returned. Harry didn’t acknowledge him, didn’t even look at him as the man sat at his desk. The man didn’t seem to be paying attention to Harry either as he merely grabbed a quill and ink and parchment.

Harry’s interest was piqued but he refused to say anything. Instead he focused on the book he was reading.

Some of the books Harry had been given were about Dark Arts – Harry had immediately closed those and placed them in the corner of the room, as if to show the Death Eater that he didn’t appreciate both the subject and the book itself – and some were about other random subjects. Harry was currently reading a book about magical creatures and was fascinated by the chapter dedicated to snakes. He wasn’t quite sure why but then again; he was permitted to be a bit  _odd_  after everything that has happened to him in his short life.

When Harry was ten years old, he had been fascinated by snakes. They had always intrigued him instead of being dangerous to him and Harry could clearly remember reading books about snakes in the local Muggle library. There wasn’t much information about them that would explain his odd fascination, the Muggle knowledge about snakes was scarce and did not provide Harry with what he had been looking for. Yet he had never found them to be  _dark_  creatures, he always thought them to be intelligent and calculating,  _neutral._  He had always expected spiders and bats to be dark creatures.

As soon as he had come to Hogwarts, he had realized that he had been wrong about snakes all along. He had found out that snakes were in fact the very symbol of the Dark in the Wizarding Community and at the time he had been disappointed. Yet that – in turn – made him wonder about the Dark Arts.

He had never admitted it out loud. The fact that he could speak in Parseltongue wouldn’t help him either, when he would express that desire. Only Harry, Voldemort and Salazar Slytherin could speak in that language. Salazar Slytherin was dead.

Now, it was a language only Harry and Voldemort could speak in.

A chill ran down his spine at that thought. He thought that was something far too intimate, as it reminded him of soft whispers exchanged between lovers, too soft for anyone else to hear but them. It disgusted him to think of loving the man who had ruined him and his family, had forced him to become this of all things. This caged animal, waiting for any bone they were willing to throw at him. No, it was absurd, but the comparisation was still obvious. It was hard not to romanticize the thought of two people speaking in a secret language.

Speaking in Parseltongue wasn’t something that one would teach their children. It was sacred, something precious to Slytherins. One would either be born with the capability of speaking the language naturally, fluently, or not. There was no way in between.

Yet… Harry found himself wondering. Parseltongue wasn’t just a steady flow of hisses and other throaty noises. Harry could clearly hear said noises and recognize them to be words. If he wanted to, he could teach anyone that language, couldn’t he? He flipped through the book yet couldn’t find anything interesting about Parseltongue in this chapter. This chapter was mainly about Salazar Slytherin’s obsession with snakes.

Harry placed the book on the side of his bed and sat up. Surely, there had to be something… His eyes caught sight of the books about the Dark Arts but he quickly dismissed them, missing the amused look on the nameless man’s face.

Those books wouldn’t make him any wiser at all. He was sure that there was nothing about Parseltongue in those books as it wasn’t exactly something someone would attempt to learn anytime soon. Not to mention he wouldn’t even  _touch_  those books out of principle.

‘What are you thinking about?’ Harry jumped at the sound of his voice. Harry had almost forgotten about his initial anger and the very presence of his visitor. Harry was about to ignore him, when he realized something.

If Harry were to discuss this with  _him_ … would it make it less bad? He couldn’t possibly even think about a language just between him and Voldemort. It repulsed him. Just the mere thought of having the snake like-man as a lover made bile raise in his throat.

‘If I would want to, could I teach someone to speak in Parseltongue?’

His visitor seemed a bit surprised by that question but quickly recollected his calm façade.

‘No, you cannot.’

‘But… why? It seems unreasonable that you are born to speak a language that no one has ever taught you or spoken in your presence, doesn’t it? People learn German, French, English all from other people, because they teach them how to pronounce the words and tell them the meaning of those words. They teach them how to use proper grammar and things like that.’

The Death Eater shook his head. ‘It is very interesting. But you were raised in a Muggle family, a lot of things that seem natural to me probably seem odd to you. I bet you are still surprised every day that food just appears on your plate without someone serving it in your presence.’

Harry found himself nodding, feeling a bit degraded. But it was true nonetheless; the world of magic never failed to amaze him. He was always taught that it was fake, just imagination, at the time he lived with the Dursleys. But… he had yet to wake up from this all. Sometimes he wished he would.

‘They are words to me. Can you hear words when someone speaks in Parseltongue?’

Harry wouldn’t even bother asking his visitor if he could speak in Parseltongue because Harry knew he couldn’t. Voldemort could talk in Parseltongue because he was Salazar Slytherin’s heir and Harry could speak in Parseltongue because he had a part of Voldemort’s soul deep inside of him.

‘They sound like hissing sounds, to anyone who doesn’t speak the language.’ Harry missed the fact that his visitor didn’t directly answer the question.

‘But if you were to repeat those hissing sounds in the exact same way, wouldn’t you involuntary speak Parseltongue?’

The man seemed to contemplate that for a moment. Harry had never given so much thought to it but it interested him now. He had also never tried this out.

‘What are you suggesting?’

‘If I… if I were to speak in Parseltongue to you, and you would repeat the noises you heard, could it be possible…?’

His visitor chuckled. ‘You really are a child. Just because someone can repeat the sounds, doesn’t mean they can actually-’

‘Can we try?’

Harry was now sitting on his bed, eager to find out. He was somehow hoping he could teach someone, anyone, and break that other intimate connection between just him and Voldemort. If he could just squeeze someone in between…

‘This is ridiculous.’ His visitor stood up and Harry stood up as well, curling a hand around the man’s wrist. The man’s head whipped around so fast Harry was surprised he didn’t hear his neck crack and Harry realized he shouldn’t have touched him.

The teen let go as if burned and muttered a soft apology.

‘Just…’

He regarded Harry for a few seconds before he gave a tight nod. The younger of the two wondered for a second why  he wanted the man to stay. Was Harry so starved for friendship, for someone who could just sit down and talk to him and keep Harry from losing his mind that he was willing to become friends with the enemy?

The Death Eater seemed offended by the mere suggestion of allowing someone else to speak in Parseltongue, but dismissed it. He probably thought it was an insult to Voldemort or thought Harry was questioning his Lord’s powers.

‘I was just wondering,’ Harry sheepishly offered. ‘And I didn’t mean to insult you. I got excited, I thought…’

‘You hoped that if you could teach someone else that language, you could break a connection between you and Voldemort.’

He stated it rather bluntly and Harry blinked. ‘How…?’ Why did he say  _his_  name? So carelessly too…? Bellatrix had screamed at Harry at the Ministry, when Harry had said Voldemort’s name. It had been a taboo, even for Death Eaters to pronounce that retched name. Did that change too or did this man simply have more privileges? If so, how did he earn them?

‘As I said before, you are a mere child, Harry.’ Harry’s visitor sat down and had an arrogant air around him. Harry leaned against the door and regarded him, fascinated. ‘And I won’t degrade myself to play a  _game_  with you. I can assure you, I have better things to do.’

‘It wasn’t a  _game_ , it was an experiment,’ Harry argued, ‘and you once told me the only reason you bothered to visit me was because you are bored. So no, you don’t have better things to do. What do you have to lose?’

‘Nothing, yet you have nothing to gain. I render this useless.’

Harry scowled. ‘I have something to gain!’

He regarded Harry coolly. ‘And what’s that? No matter what happens, you will always be connected to him. You have more than just a scar, so to speak. Which his most loyal followers would kill for.’

‘You can have it for all I care!’ Harry turned around and closed his eyes, trying to calm down. He was breathing heavily and his frustration was yet again getting the best of him. Being away from Hogwarts, from Ron and Hermione and everything and everyone else he considered home was taking its toll on him and he was sure that he never had a temper this bad before.

The man was silent and Harry was sure he was keeping a close eye on Harry, but Harry didn’t care. He just wanted to calm down. It was rather silly, how he could be wound up about this, but he knew it was just because of the disappointment. Like everything in his life always had been.

It wasn’t just because Harry was denied of the chance to teach someone a language. It was because this just proved to Harry all the more that he was the  _Chosen one_. And not just Harry Potter.

He finally turned around and yelped as the man was suddenly close to him, his eyes trapping Harry.

‘You’re such a pain,’ the man lamely commented and Harry’s eyebrow twitched. ‘Ah, temper…’

‘Just go away already, aren’t you supposed to be a perfect lapdog and serve him? I’m sure he didn’t order you to visit me whenever you feel like it.’

The male chuckled in amusement and brushed a hand over Harry’s cheek, the one that Bellatrix had slapped weeks ago. Harry flinched away. He wasn’t used to touches like that at all and he wasn’t sure whether he should feel offended or calm down a bit.

‘You really have no idea who I am, do you?’ Harry opened his mouth but the Death Eater pressed a long, elegant finger against his lips. ‘Don’t state the obvious, it won’t make you appear intelligent at all.’

He stared into his green eyes, long and hard, making Harry want to squirm. Harry suddenly felt uncomfortable being trapped against this wall, with a taller and physically stronger man in front of him and the way his visitor was looking at him wasn’t helping at all.

‘It - it’s rude to stare, you know,’ Harry stuttered and cursed himself for it. The man chuckled and finally released Harry.

‘I will make sure to refrain from intimidating you, Harry. I never knew you were that fond of proper manners.’

Harry opened his mouth to protest, only to shut it soon afterwards. After a moment of silence he sighed, suddenly feeling more tired than before. ‘Why do you do this? I can’t be that entertaining at all.’

‘Oh, I beg to differ. You are quite fascinating, boy. Dinner should be served in a few minutes.’

He opened the door and shot Harry a smug look.

‘You may want to try out  _all_  of the books I have given you, I did give you them for a reason. As they say, don’t judge a book by its cover. Right, Harry?’ The door closed behind him and Harry frowned. Strangely, Harry found himself wondering if he was just talking about books.

 


	6. But First I Gotta Find Myself

  
**Roots Before Branches**   


Chapter 5

**But First I Gotta Find Myself**

When Harry went to sleep, he had a dream. It made him twitch and groan, legs tangling in the sheets.

He could recall having a dream like this months ago, a vision if he could say so. The images going through his mind drenched his body with cold sweat and even though he didn’t trust said images after he had seen a fake Sirius getting attacked, it felt vivid, it felt  _real_.

The Dark Lord was experiencing rage and Harry could see through Nagini’s eyes.

They were walking through a hall. Or rather,  _Voldemort_  was walking, his robes rustling because of his fast pace whereas Nagini - or should Harry say himself? – was slithering next to him and was barely capable of keeping up with him. Harry could feel the rage radiating off the Dark Lord and briefly wondered what had occurred, until a door suddenly reached his – Nagini’s – line of vision. It opened with a swift movement of Voldemort’s wand and Harry twisted in his bed, a soft moan escaping his quivering lips.

There was a woman chained, forced in a kneeling position on the floor in the center of the room with blood oozing from a nasty cut on her forehead, a steady  _drip drip drip_ the only sound in the room along with her ragged breathing. Her face was hidden in the darkness but that tangled mess of brown hair was something Harry would be able to recognize anywhere.

The woman was Hermione.

Voldemort hissed at her in Parseltongue, the sound so cutting, so vicious somehow. ‘ _Foolish woman…_ ’ he spoke. Hermione appeared to be barely capable of listening and Harry’s own body twisted in the sheets, another weak noise escaping his lips as his fingers twitched restlessly by his sides. ‘ _Wake her up, Nagini… After I am done with her you can have her…_ ’

The door shut behind them and Harry’s body jolted so harshly that he fell off the bed, his head harshly slamming into the floor he fell on. He panted and his eyes were wide at both the sudden pain and the fear gripping at his body, forming a lump in his throat.

_There was no way that…_

His heart started pounding in his chest. It beat so fast that he could barely think and he noticed with faint mortification that he was trembling. The floor was cold and his legs were still trapped in his warm sheets on top of his bed, making him feel dizzy.

Harry was utterly exhausted yet he knew he couldn’t fall back to sleep after what happened. The fake sun seemed to be mocking him and he closed his eyes tightly, his hands fisting his own hair as he tried not to scream at the unfairness of it all, at how helpless he felt. He wasn’t supposed to be like this. Harry wasn’t _meant_ to be like this.

Struggling to keep himself together, Harry tried to come up with ways to point out that this had been just a dream. His dreams had been false before, maybe Voldemort was playing with their connection. Maybe he was watching him now…

Harry pushed himself up with shaky hands but a quick glance around his room told him that no one was there. Still, that only seemed to make him more anxious to know than before. If someone had been in his room then it could have been confirmed. He shook his head. Hermione couldn’t have found him. Ron would have been with her, if that was the case.

That’s it, then. Just a dream. Nothing less, nothing more.

Running a hand through his hair, he hissed as he pressed down too hard on his forehead. Harry was sure he would look ridiculous with a bruise on his face in the morning – or whatever the time it was by then.

Harry stepped into the bathroom and took a cold shower to clear his mind of his dreadful musings.

* * *

‘What happened to your head?’

Harry turned away and his face flushed with embarrassment, unsure of how to explain his nameless visitor that he had fallen out of his bed. Harry supposed he was lucky he hadn’t landed on his nose – surely he would have broken it in the process. It was rather embarrassing and tiresome at the same time.

He’d be lying if he were to say that Hermione wasn’t still at the back of his mind, too.

‘None of your business,’ Harry tried to swat the male’s hand off but that only resulted in getting his wrist gripped. A dangerous look flashed through crimson eyes and Harry shuddered.

One day, Harry thought to himself, this visitor would truly reveal himself. The thought that he’d kill Harry made Harry shudder but he knew he would welcome death as an old friend if it would make everything okay again. What was one life compared to that of thousands? Yet at the same time, Harry feared this man. There was something so very familiar about him and Harry just couldn’t put his finger on it…

‘Did one of the Death Eaters come?’ he asked and Harry frowned at how utterly concerned he sounded. He was feigning it, Harry was certain of it, there was no other reason why he’d show Harry some kindness. He wanted to lure Harry into a false sense of security and then he’d strike when Harry was at his weakest.

‘Why do you even care? I’m fine, let go of me.’

He suddenly pushed Harry down and Harry swallowed thickly. Yes, this man was indeed intimidating when he wanted to. Harry’s hands were rendered useless as they were pinned above his head. It made Harry feel small and very aware of the physical difference between them.  
Harry used to have some muscle on him because he was a Seeker and he was supposed to be in a good shape, but he had lost a great amount of weight ever since he got here. He was even smaller than he used to be.

‘Answer the question, Potter.’ Their staring contest was making Harry feel aggravated and for as much as he wanted to deny him, Harry wanted to get over with this as well. Harry mumbled something under his breath.

‘What’s that?’ the male spat back, obviously not hearing what Harry had said. Harry noted his breath smelled like mint and something else, something sweet. He liked it.

‘I said I fell out of the bed. I was having a bad dream.’ Harry scanned his face for any signs of amusement, but found there were none. If anything, he only seemed more irritated and fascinated at the same time. Like Harry was some sort of annoying science project he had yet to finish.

‘What kind of dream?’ he inquired and Harry blinked at the interest he was showing.

‘It was…’ Could the Death Eater harm him with the information? If he deemed this serious enough, Harry  was sure he would tell Voldemort. Voldemort would heighten his Occlumency shields, no doubt, but would he harm Harry as well…? Harry bit his lip as he considered this. The only reason why Voldemort would do such a thing was if what he had seen was the truth.

But it wasn’t. Harry didn’t see anything remotely similar to true events.

…Right?

‘Well?’ he prompted Harry.

‘I…’ Harry couldn’t find words to speak. He knew what to say, but it seemed like his sudden fear had made it impossible for him to say out loud. He may find out if Hermione was in danger. Could he handle the truth? Their eyes met and Harry tried to find some sort of comfort in his eyes, only to find none. ‘I saw Voldemort attack someone.’

Those mysterious crimson eyes widened before they quickly went back to their interested expression. Harry was sure that he would have missed it if he hadn’t been staring so intently into them from such a short distance.

After all, the tall male was straddling Harry’s hips and keeping Harry’s hands above his head even though he had no good reason to do so. Harry wasn’t struggling and he couldn’t recall doing so at all. ‘Be more precise,’ the man hissed. A chill ran down Harry’s spine.

‘I… I saw it happen through Nagini’s eyes. I didn’t actually saw him attacking, but…’ Harry trailed off, losing focus by the mere thought of the dream. He shivered. ‘He was talking to Nagini. He said Nagini could have her after he was done with her.’

Harry’s eyes looked over a spot over the man’s shoulder and suddenly felt so tired. ‘He was talking about a friend. My friend. Hermione Granger… I don’t know if he did this to bother me. He knows I get visions of him and he made me have a fake one about Sirius. I just hope…’

Harry closed his eyes. He wanted to sleep, to think this over even though a part of him thought he simply thought too much. The teen knew he had to be realistic but found that he couldn’t. The thought that everyone, everything, was still alright gave him the strength that he needed to go on. To live in this room for Merlin knows how long.

This man had once made Harry think that things weren’t alright out there. Or, at least, not the way he knew it to be. He didn’t ask the man if what he had seen was true because the mere thought of it made tears well up in his eyes and made Harry realize that he was emotionally so tired. The dull headache, spreading from his bruise to his temples, did nothing to help him calm down. His head throbbed.

‘You don’t look alright.’ He wasn’t going to ask if Harry was alright, because that would mean he would show concern. They both knew he wasn’t supposed to do such a thing. Large hands let go of Harry’s thin wrists and Harry perked an eye open.

‘Do you think…?’ Harry wasn’t talking about how he looked and they both knew it. Harry also knew he probably couldn’t handle the truth but his child-like nature wanted to be sure that Hermione wasn’t hurt, that it was all just a dream. He couldn’t even dream without having to worry about it becoming the truth, he realized just then. Another thing that Voldemort had stolen from him.

His large, warm form moved off Harry’s own small one and he trembled. The room felt cold, it never did. Harry wondered if it had something to do with the look on his face.

 ‘I will see you soon,’ he said. His tone made it clear that he didn’t want Harry to question it, but Harry did so nonetheless.

‘Wait, please, is she…?’

‘Begging doesn’t fit you well, Harry Potter.’ He didn’t meet his eyes. Harry grew angry.

‘Dammit, why won’t you answer the goddamn question!?’ he yelled and gasped at the dangerous look he received from the Death Eater in return. It made him sit back down on the bed and tremble. He started fisting his hair.

‘Whereas there was a reason to plant a fake vision in your mind last time, there wasn’t one reason to do so now. Let’s see if that answers your question, Harry.’

He slammed the door behind himself when he left.

Harry’s gasped for air.


End file.
